Abounding Sorrow and Happiness
by operaboi
Summary: Draco comes back into Harry's life when Harry almost kills him.
1. Default Chapter

Title: Abounding Sorrow and Plentiful Happiness Authour: The Unknown Star Pairing: Harry/Draco Rating: PG-13 Summary: Draco comes back into Harry's life when Harry almost kills him. Disclaimer: sI own them all, of course./s, there not mine, duh... Notes: Please review, please please.  
  
~Abounding Sorrow-Chapter 1~  
  
Harry Potter had long since left the magical world. After killing Voldemort, he was through. It wasn't that he hated magic. No, magic was something he still used regularly. It was that he couldn't stand to live in a world where people celebrated him for doing something so heinous. Of course, they thought he had killed the Dark Lord with a clean curse and been done with it.  
  
No. Harry had lost so much to Voldemort: Ron, Hermione, Dumbledor, any chance at a normal existence. When Harry last battled Voldemort, he was filled with so much rage, hatred for all of the injustice he had received. He had subjected Voldemort to the Cruciatus Curse, and simply held him there. He tortured a man, no not a man, but a being until he gave out. He could have simply used the Killing Curse and finished cleanly, but, no.  
  
For months, Harry regretted having finished it the way he had. The only witness had been Dumbledor who soon died afterward. Harry, after almost a year of people worshipping him for something he couldn't accept, decided he had to get away. He couldn't go to some other part of the world for he was known everywhere, at least by name and deed. He couldn't just become a fake muggle in London, either. People would recognize him there.  
  
So, he left for America and changed his name to Harry Zabini. A name he had always liked and would still connect him to the Magic world. He did, after all, want to go back someday...maybe.  
  
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"So long," Harry said to his conductor, Leonard Bernstein, a man renowned all over the world for his beautiful musical creations such as West Side Story. After Harry moved to New York City, he had learned to play the clarinet and found that with a little magical help, he was a natural.  
  
"Wait a sec. I need to look over a spot in your solo. During the cadenza, there is a suggestion of a few pizzicatos in the violins. If we put those in there, you will need to show up at their sectional on Tuesday." Mr. Bernstein said.  
  
"Um, lets leave it out because the notes don't really add much and as you know, I never do my cadenzas the same way twice." Harry replied. Yes he was a bit vain, but hey, he had surpassed Stanley Drucker, the principle clarinetist in the New York Philharmonic for 17 years.  
  
"I thought as much. Okay then, see you next Saturday at dress rehearsal.  
  
Harry smiled and left without another word, stepping out onto the busy New York street. He headed off toward his apartment (it had taken him almost a year not to say flat as it sounder rather British), which was just a few blocks away. He stopped at a street vendor and bought some honey glazed nuts, his most recent obsession in America.  
  
Harry stepped through the door to his penthouse apartment (after all, his parents had left him with a fortune and being a principal in the NYP was a high pay job) and dropped his beautiful Buffet R-13 clarinet on the marble table. He then went to change into his grungy lounging clothes as he had about two hours before his friends showed up to take him clubbing. After all, he may be in a classy orchestra, but he was still only 23 years old and loved to go out drinking, at the gay bars of course.  
  
Harry opened up a book he had just started that morning, "The Persuader" by Lee Child. He was on to his fifth Child book and had three more to go until he finished all of the books the writer had published so far. And, another was due out in the summer, which excited Harry. He had never been much of a reader back at home when he was younger and had always thought Hermione a bit strange. But, reading was the one tribute he could pay to his lost friend. He still blamed her death on himself even though he knew he had nothing to do with it. That was just his way.  
  
His tribute to Ron was, of course, his boyfriend, David Martin. David, like Ron was tall, skinny, and red-haired, though it was nowhere close to the same fiery blaze that Ron's had been. Harry and David had been dating almost a year. David was a computer repair-thingy. Harry still wasn't use to All of muggle technology. Of course, david had no clue of Harry's 'skills'.  
  
"Bugger, it's gettin' late." Harry said looking at his watch. He barely had enough time to take a shower and get dressed and eat enough so that the liquor he would be consuming tonight would not settle improperly. He stripped on the way to his bedroom and turned on the shower to a nice hot setting. He stood under the stream for a minute and then began washing himself, singing "Red Dirt Road" by Brooks and Dunn, a country duo that Harry liked. He didn't like much country, but these two men came out with good songs.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The doorbell rang for the fourth time, this time accompanied by a "Come on Harry! Get the Hell out here NOW!" from his friend, Jenae Levins. Jenae bore some resemblance to Hermione in that her hair was bushy. She wasn't dumb, but had little dedication to her studies and had barely passed her senior year in college. She was now a stage manager in the Broadway show, "Avenue Q". That was where she had met Vince Bartram, performer and frind of David, boyfriend of Harry. Vince's Hair was blonde, almost as blonde as Malf...No. That was one person from his past he chose to forget. He wanted to forget the feuds, the hatred, and the schoolboy-like crush he had had on him.  
  
Harry opened the door with extreme drama, appearing in his black corduroys, black suede jacket, showing a little of his lime green turtleneck which showed at the cuffs and collar of the jacket. "Ta da! I am here and you are lucky enough to have the honor of being in my presence," Harry said, showing SUCH modesty.  
  
"Hey," aid Vince, "Leave the Drama to me."  
  
"Oh, but I do it much better."  
  
"Yeah. Then why am I the one who gets paid for it?"  
  
Normally Harry would respond and the banter would move on to where Vince would say, "All you have to do is play that damned clarinet and you make a fortune, but I slave under the hot lights and the critics 6 days a week and I barely can afford to live." Then Harry would say, Excuse me. You live fine in the Broadway apartments where all you have to pay for rent is 10% of your salary. Now me, I pay half of my earnings for this place. The rest I spend on food, liquor, and you three."  
  
But tonight, this argument did not happen because as Harry opened his mouth to talk, David captured his lips in a kiss, which escalated to a passionate moment which made Vince and Jenae click their tongues impatiently. When they finished, they four set off downstairs, out into the cold, and down the street towards their favorite bar.  
  
The night went like this: Harry soon got hot from a mixture of dancing and liquor. Vince was off with some guy in the crowd trying to get laid. Jenae hung around the bar with the other straight women labeled, "fag hags". And Harry danced up against David, practically having sex on the floor. Harry soon became plastered, and at about 3 am, the four left and Harry was escorted home. David volunteered to stay the night and make sure Harry was alright.  
  
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Harry woke up with a pounding headache. He looked over and saw David asleep in the chair next to his bed. Harry carefully got up, ignoring the pain and nausea, and went to his bathroom. Harry kept some Hangover potion disguised as shampoo for occasions like this. He quickly downed a bottle and felt the pain and nausea dissipate.  
  
Then Harry went down to the kitchen to make breakfast. The smell of coffee, eggs, and bacon soon permeated the apartment and woke David as Harry walked in with a tray of food. David yawned and stretched, sleepily looking at Harry.  
  
"Mornin'," David said through a yawn. "How you recover so quickly from hangovers is beyond me."  
  
"Breakfast?" Harry offered, not wanting to lie to David.  
  
The men ate in silence and when done, David offered to clean up but Harry said no, and sent him to take a shower. When Harry came up, David was done and wrapped in a towel. Harry went into the bathroom and showered too, and when he came out, David was barely stifling a laugh.  
  
"You sing way off key," David said, grinning at Harry whilst he teased him. "It took me about a minute to realize that the song was Invisible."  
  
"Oh, sod off," Harry said, reverting back to British for his insults. The men got dressed, or rather, Harry changed four times trying to find a 'descent' outfit. Then, the two men went out to go sightseeing, something they hadn't done in a while.  
  
They saw the Empire state building, got on the ferry to Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty, and came back to NYC for a mid afternoon snack at some greasy pizza joint. Then, they went to stand in line to get cheap tickets to see Vince in "Avenue Q", but were dismayed that it was sold out and instead, opted for "Blue Man Group".  
  
"That was so much fun!" said Harry as they walked up from the theater. "The way you had to choose one of the signs to read. My sign was hilarious and kept telling me to switch signs. Oh, and the Captain Crunch..." He kept on for the twenty minutes it took to get back to Harry's apartment building and then david suddenly became serious.  
  
"Oh no, what does that look mean?" Harry asked fearfully.  
  
"Um, I don't know quite how to...I've been trying to do this for three days and just couldn't bring myself to say it. Um, I want to-to..." David struggled.  
  
"You want to leave me. Is that it? You finally got bored with me and thought you'd just move on!" Harry said, his voice getting louder with each word.  
  
"I...uh" David stammered.  
  
"No. Just go, as I am not worth your attention anymore!" Harry screamed through his tears. It used to be that there would have screamed without the accent of tears. But, lately, he found himself changing, deciding he wouldn't treat his friends the way he treated former ones. But, David deserved the screaming too.Then he turned and ran into the building and up the stairs to his apartment. When Harry got to his room, he threw himself on the bed and broke down, shaken with a mix of rage and hurt. Then he saw David's socks lying on the floor, and decided he had to get out. So he grabbed the keys to his Nissan /i and headed out.  
  
Harry stepped into the parking garage under his building and quickly found his orange sports car. Not neon orange but more of a soft tint orange. He pulled out of his spot and onto the slightly less busy night traffic of New York City. He had soon fled the city into the county side of the state. He often drove these roads to have a chance to think. Of course, the first time he had done this, he had not been able to find his way back and therefore had to ask for directions, something that did not suit him well.  
  
Harry had soon been driving for an hour and it was nearing 11:30 pm. He was having a difficult time seeing through the darkness and his tears. His speedometer said he was going almost 80 mph, but he never went that fast, not Harry. All of a sudden, there was what appeared to be a white mass hovering about 6 feet above the ground. Before Harry had a chance to realize this was a person wearing black, it was too late.  
  
Harry screamed as he stamped the brake and jerked the wheel to the left in an attempt to avoid the person. But, impact was inevitable and Harry hit the person as he slid sideways down the road. The person went flying and landed in the grass, a bloody mess.  
  
Harry jumped out of his car and ran to the person. He looked down into the barely conscious victim and saw the face of someone familiar. As he stared into the gray eyes of the shoulder-length blonde, memories rushed back to him.  
  
"Shit! Malfoy!" +++++  
  
A/N-Brooks and Dunn own whatever part of themselves that does not belong to the record company, as does Clay Aiken (singer of invisible), and Lee Child to his publishers. No copyright infringement, blah blah blah. 


	2. Making a Move

Title: Abounding Sorrow and Plentiful Happiness  
  
Authour: The Unknown Star  
  
Pairing: Harry/Draco  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Summary: Draco comes back into Harry's life when Harry almost kills him.  
  
Disclaimer: sI own them all, of course./s, there not mine, duh...  
  
Notes: Please review, please please.  
  
~Abounding Sorrow-Chapter 2~  
  
"Malfoy! Malfoy! Come on Malfoy, don't be dead!" Harry screamed, looking down into the rolled back eyes of the blonde laying motionless on the ground. He then checked Malfoy's throat for a pulse and was relieved to find one. Harry was scared to move the victim of his driving stupidity (one of the many faults Harry had), and so he put him in a full body bind using his wand which he had brought in case he needed to blow something up to relieve his anger.  
  
"What the fuck?" Malfoy said when all of his limbs snatched together tightly. He looked up at Harry and seemed alarmed or maybe just pissed off at being hit by Lord Potter.  
  
"You're alive!" Harry said, but still was panicked at the sight of blood streaming from a head injury.  
  
"Of course I am alive. Malfoys don't die from car crashes, they just get hurt." Malfoy said, though the pride in his voice was weak. "Now if you will just remove this hex from me, and heal my head wound, I will be fine."  
  
"Oh, right," Harry said, and took out his wand and closed the head injury. The blood was still coagulated in the fine silken hair. Feeling his concussion disappear, Malfoy tried to get up, but realized that other parts of his body were hurt.  
  
"Fuck! You almost made me bleed to death AND you broke my beautiful leg and arm." Malfoy said, somehow staying aristocratically demeaning throughout this whole ordeal.  
  
"I did kinda hit you hard." Harry said.  
  
"No shit! Now, do you know the spells to heal my broken bones?"  
  
"Well, I can fix you arm and leg, but I think that you also have a few cracked ribs which I am not qualified to fix. I could take you to a mediwitch."  
  
"NO!" Malfoy said. "Malfoys never need to see mediwitches. Just heal what you can and I will just have to recover the normal, muggle way. Slowly." He said this as if he was disgusted with the idea, which he probably was.  
  
Harry did as he was told. Then he waited while Malfoy sat up, gingerly feeling his chest for damage. He stood and winced at the pain in his left leg that was still there despite having had the bone healed. "Damn, you must have hit me hard. Well, whatever. I guess you will have to take care of me until I am better. I always did want to have you as my personal slave."  
  
Harry turned toward Malfoy, "I am not now, nor will I ever be your slave. You need to know that. I'm only gonna stay with you until you're better, then I am out. So, do you live around here?"  
  
"Yeah. I live that way," he said as he pointed his right index finger toward a small house. He winced with the pain the small gesture caused. "This is going to be a painful few weeks with you, I can tell."  
  
Harry cursed inwardly when Malfoy mentioned 'weeks'.  
  
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"Harry! Harry!" Malfoy yelled up the stairs.  
  
Harry came running down the stairs, concern written on his face. "What's wrong?"  
  
"I can't reach the remote." Malfoy stated, whining like a little child.  
  
"THAT'S ALL?!? You scared me to death the way you were yelling! I thought you were dying or something." Harry said, simultaneously angry at Malfoy for scaring him, and embarrassed that he got worked up so easily.  
  
"Well, I needed the remote to change the channel. This season of American Idol sucks, now that they got rid of Amy. I miss Clay. Have you ever watched AI, Harry?"  
  
"No, I never had the time, practicing my ass off to stay principle clarinet. And since when do you call me Harry?"  
  
"Hmm...I don't know. I guess I just got used to you."  
  
"I've only been here two days. Definitely not enough time to get used to someone you spent seven years hating." Harry said, wondering what was different about Malfoy. "Well, actually, I never hated you. But, in first year, when you refused to accept my friendship, well no one does that to a Malfoy. I had to keep face and therefore made you life a living Hell. But now we are both adults and I don't have a name or reputation to keep. Now that my father is dead, I don't have to do things to please him." Malfoy had never seemed so sincere. Harry decided to take this as an almost apology and move on.  
  
He handed Malfoy the remote, making a mental note to start calling him Draco, and sat down on the comfortable couch. "So Draco," Harry began, noticing the way Draco seemed to brighten when Harry called him by his first name. "I was wondering, why did you move out here, to New York? To the United States?"  
  
"Well," Draco began, finding it hard to admit this, "because of you." There, simple enough, not to long giving the chance to stumble.  
  
Harry started. "What? For me. What do you mean, and how did you know I was here?"  
  
"Well, to answer the last question first, I was kinda stalking you I guess. So, I put a charm on your wand that acts like a homing device." Noticing that Harry seemed slightly confused, and a little uncomfortable, Draco decided to further explain. "See, every wizard has a sort of magical fingerprint, but most are too weak to be distinct. However, you are a powerful enough wizard to have a very strong and unique imprint. Only two other wizards had magic as strong as yours and they are dead."  
  
Harry guessed that the other two wizards were likely Dumbledor and Voldemort. "And why would you want to stalk me? And since when?"  
  
"Well, since mid-sixth year when I realized that I li-" Draco faltered.  
  
Harry tried to complete the sentence, curious just what Draco wouldn't say. "That you li- lime. Light. Lithe."  
  
Harry's guesses were ridiculous so Draco stopped them with the correct answer. "Liked you," he said softly. Harry's eyes just opened wide and he stared. "Yes, Harry. I like you," Draco added, not realizing that he had not used past tense.  
  
"You-you, you like me? Why? I'm ugly. Not a beautiful like you." Harry blushed at the admission that he thought Draco was beautiful.  
  
"Harry, your hotness lies in the fact that you are totally dreamy without noticing it. Your hair is the messy look that so many try to achieve with hair products but you have naturally. And, now that Vol...you-know-who is dead, and the scar disappeared, you have a gorgeous complexion." Draco was blushing almost as red as Ron used to blush.  
  
Harry just stayed silent. Then he took Draco's hand. When he felt Draco tense a little, he almost snatched his hand away to pretend it never happen, but as he started to move, Draco entwined his fingers with Harry. Draco never was one for a slow developing relationship. Draco was looking directly into Harry's green eyes. Harry then, taking the gesture as permission to move on, leaned in and kissed Draco's luscious lips.  
  
The kiss started out innocently enough, with lips barely meeting. But then Draco's tongue was licking Harry's lips begging them to part and when they did, the two men's' tongues met and started a battling for dominance. In the end, Harry won, being stronger and the kiss lasted for maybe a few seconds, maybe an hour. Neither man knew.  
  
Draco was the one to pull away, seeming out of breath. Even though he had mastered the art of breathing through his nose while making out (yes the rumors of Draco, the Slytherin sex god were true), he had forgotten how to do this when kissing Harry. Somehow, Harry made his mind go blank.  
  
Harry seemed both a little shocked and completely satisfied. He had his arms at his sides and Draco took the opportunity to use him as a pillow. When Draco had lain his head on Harry's chest, Harry wrapped his arms around him. The men slept through the night like this.  
  
+++++  
  
A/N-American Idol is owned by Fox Television Network. Although I plan to compete next year, it isn't mine...Yet. 


End file.
